Familial Expectations
POV - Finance Minister Darrien Mal
[Day 2, March 2002, 6pm]
As I step out of the newly established government building, the cool breeze carries with it the faint scent of freshly turned earth and the distant sounds of reconstruction. Another day in this post-war country has drawn to a close, but the work of rebuilding and renewal is only just beginning. The weight of my responsibilities as one of the ministers tasked with overseeing the transition to peace and stability hangs heavy upon my shoulders, a constant reminder of the daunting task that lies ahead.
The city streets are bustling with the chaotic energy of rush hour, a stark contrast to the controlled environment of the office. The cacophony of honking horns and hurried footsteps blends into a dissonant symphony, a constant reminder of the relentless pace of life in the metropolis. I navigate through the throngs of people with practiced indifference, my mind already drifting towards the sanctuary of solitude that awaits me at home.
As I hail a cab, my thoughts drift back to the events of the day. Meetings filled with heated debates and tense negotiations, each interaction a delicate dance of diplomacy and strategy. Despite my best efforts to exude an air of confidence and competence, I can't shake the nagging feeling of inadequacy that gnaws at the edges of my consciousness. The weight of expectation, both self-imposed and external, hangs heavily upon me, threatening to crush me beneath its suffocating embrace.
But amidst the hustle and bustle of the city streets, my thoughts inevitably turn to my parents - the pillars of strength and support who have guided me through the darkest of times.
My parents, with their tireless dedication to the welfare of their fellow citizens, have always been beacons of hope in a world shrouded in darkness. Their selflessness and compassion have served as a guiding light, illuminating the path forward even in the bleakest of times. And though they may no longer be with me in person, their presence is felt in every decision I make, every action I take.
As I make my way through the quiet streets towards my modest apartment, I am filled with a sense of gratitude for the opportunities that my Western education has afforded me. It has given me the tools and the knowledge to navigate the complexities of governance and diplomacy, to seek out innovative solutions to age-old problems.
Finally, I arrive at my apartment and step inside, the familiar sights and sounds of home wrapping around me like a warm embrace. The walls are adorned with books and artifacts from my travels abroad, reminders of the rich tapestry of experiences that have shaped me into the person I am today.
I sit down to dinner with my parents, the fragrant aroma of home-cooked food filling the air. But with the fragrant food, we ate in silence
Once dinner finished the tension simmered beneath the surface, ready to boil over at any moment. My father's booming voice fills the room, his words laced with frustration and disappointment as he launches into yet another tirade about my performance as the Minister of Finance.
"You call yourself a finance minister?" he bellows, his voice echoing off the walls of the modest dining room. "You've done nothing but squander the opportunities that have been handed to you on a silver platter. You're a disgrace to this family and to your country!"
His words cut deeper than any knife, each syllable a painful reminder of my perceived inadequacies. I shrink back in my chair, my confidence crumbling beneath the weight of his relentless criticism. Despite my best efforts to maintain a facade of composure, the familiar specter of self-doubt rears its ugly head, threatening to engulf me in its suffocating embrace.
"I'm doing the best I can," I protest weakly, my voice barely audible above the din of my father's anger. "The challenges we face are immense, and progress takes time."
But my words fall on deaf ears as my father continues his relentless assault, each accusation driving another nail into the coffin of my self-esteem. He berates me for my perceived failures, listing off a litany of shortcomings and missed opportunities with the precision of a seasoned prosecutor.
My father's words strike like a dagger to my heart, his tone dripping with disdain and disappointment as he unleashes another barrage of criticism. "We sent you to the West to study, and for what?" he scoffs, his voice filled with bitterness. "A waste of money and time."
The air in the room grows heavy with tension as his words hang in the air, a cruel reminder of the sacrifices that my parents made to give me the opportunities that they never had. The weight of their expectations bears down upon me like a suffocating blanket, threatening to crush me beneath its unbearable weight.
"I thought you would come back with something to show for it," he continues, his voice growing louder with each passing moment. "But instead, you've returned empty-handed, with nothing to offer but excuses and incompetence."
His words were laced with bitterness and frustration. "Say what you will about the previous regime," he begins, his voice tinged with disdain, "but at least they got things done. They may have been dictators, but they knew how to maintain order and keep the country running."
His words hang in the air like a dark cloud, casting a pall over the room as the weight of his criticism settles heavily upon my shoulders. Despite my best efforts to defend the fragile progress we've made since the fall of the dictatorship, I find myself rendered speechless in the face of his unyielding skepticism.
"But look at us now," he continues, his voice rising with indignation. "We're mired in corruption and chaos, with no end in sight. What good is your Government if it can't even provide the basic necessities of life?"
I struggle to find the words to counter his arguments, my mind racing with thoughts of all the strides we've made towards building a more just and equitable society. But in the face of my father's unwavering conviction, I feel like a mere child once again, powerless to challenge his authority.